


A Splintered Review of...

by ThatDarnLakeSiren



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Friends as Family, Hurt and comfort, I’ll add more as need3d, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Sexual Advances (sortof?), Team as Family, Threatening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDarnLakeSiren/pseuds/ThatDarnLakeSiren
Summary: ...Project Freelancer.When a shy wreck of a medic is thrust upon the field between the ever-quarreling Blues and Reds, no one thinks much of it. But between discovering the simulation they’re trapped within and the horrid nature of the Freelancer project, they will need the extra help.





	1. Chapter 1

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye alerts Sarge to the newcomer. The movements, slow, tentative, and cumbersome, are recognizable in their clumsiness for those new to power armor. Right on the strangers heels walked a fluffy gray tabby.

Cocking his shotgun, the Red Leader jumped down from the top of the base, landing roughly at the lavender dirtbag’s side. A rather undignified noise of surprise sounded from within the helmet, a hand shifting in an abortive gesture to their side for a weapon that wasn’t there.

”Who are you?” 

After a moments silence, the lavender stranger straightened at attention, barking out, “Medical Officer Finesilver, sir!” 

A low growl escaped the Red Leader as he brought his shotgun up to bear, “You’re a woman?!”

”. . .y-yes?” Came the whispered reply, fraught with anxiety, the woman leaning back uneasily, but resisted stepping away. 

“Mmph, ain’t right to put woman on a battlefield! Damn right unnatural! Luckily for you little lady, there’s a base that’s full of unnatural going’s-ons! Now just take yerself right on down to the Blue Base.” Sarge prodded at her shoulder, forcing her along down the canyon.

”B-but I—!”

”Nope! Git! Before I shoot’cha!”

He escorted her around Red Base and shoved her in the direction of the Blue Base. She stumbled and glanced back at him, shock emanating from every inch of her, before caving to defeat. Turning tail, she sprinted away up the canyon, at times stumbling and half-falling, unused to the way power armor enhanced physical ability.

 

* * *

“Church is my absolute bestest friend in the whole world and YOU CANNOT HAVE HIM!!”

”Caboose, get the fuck off me.”

Pushing the big blue giant off of him for the seemingly hundredth time, Church peered back down at the short purple medic and their irate gray cat as it snarled and hissed up at them. 

“Who are you?” 

“M-medical Officer Fine-finesilver, Ss-Sir!” She called back, stuttering and breathless. 

“Why did Command send you?” 

“I don’t know. To heal anyone who’s injured? To assist the currently assigned Medic?” They seemed more guesses than stated fact. Why hadn’t anyone been notified of this? 

“YOUR CAT IS COVERED IN SPIKES!”

Somehow, Church had missed when Caboose left the roof; the big blue idiot was hovering about the cat, presumably the medic’s, which while it was not hissing anymore, it remained floofed out.

”And why did they let you bring your cat?” 

“Oh. . . My brother pulled some strings I’m guessing.”

The woman shrugged, crouching down to caress the feline, movement exaggeratedly slow and cautious. Behavior consistent with soldiers new to power armor and adjusting or anxious over the results thereof of not being over-the-top careful. 

Did command dump a fucking rookie on them, expecting her to keep them alive? Well, not like Doc was doing much better on that front. Rather surprised that he hadn’t killed them all yet by accident. 

. . . Maybe this newbie would be better, or she would be worse. There was no way to tell. 

Church wasn’t much for religion, but he prayed to every god and deity he could think of that he wouldn’t be injured horribly for the duration of his stay in this stupid canyon.

* * *

 

“So are you gay, straight, or asexual?” 

“W-what?” 

“Are you gay, straight, or asexual? Or bisexual. Are you bisexual?”

”. . . Miss Kai. . . Why are you asking?” 

Sister let out an overdramatic sigh and pushed off of the doorway to the tiny office (more of a broom closet) and stopped next to the newest addition to Blue Team. The medic was dressed in little more but her Kevlar undersuit and helmet.

“I’m curious, that’s all.” She replied, waggling her eyebrows surreptiously. “Soooo ...?”

Releasing a breathy laugh, Finesilver pressed her hands to his helmet-visor, as though that would assist her in stifling her laughter. 

“If I do,” she began, once she’d regained some control over herself, “Will you let me finish my report? I really just. . . Wanna go to bed.” 

“Sure, sure.” Sister agreed, leaning in to leer suggestively at the newbie. 

This produced a bunch of stutters, and Sister just grinned wider, a hearty laugh bursting from her throat. She could just imagine a crimson blush spreading on that porcelain skin of hers, if the flesh of her hands and neck were indication of what she looked like all over.

Finesilver took a deep breath, trying to calm down a little, and replied, 

“I don’t know.” 

Kai stared at her for a full five seconds before barking out, “You don’t know?!” 

The medic shrugged noncommitally, turning her attention back to the report. “I head like one boyfriend back in high school. I once told him, since it came up, that if he’d been a girl and asked me out, I’d’ve accepted all the same. He turned out to be an asshole so I break up with him. Haven’t dated since.” 

She turned back to look upon the slack jawed Sister, and made a little shooing gesture. “I beleive you promised to l-leave?” 

“Oh-ho-ho! So you don’t know? What if I just—“ she slowly reached her hand around, only to be slapped away with an indignant squawk. 

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!” The medic was on her feet, the chair knocked over with a deafening crash in the small space. 

Breathing quick and sharp, the medic fled the small closet of an office, her footsteps thumping erratically down the hallway. 

Sister stared after her, slowly curling her hands into one another. Oh boy, she’d screwed up, hadn’t she?

* * *

 

He was hurt. He was hurt pretty badly. Well, there was no nice way to say “Sarge shot at me and actually hit me” now is there? 

The only “upside” to the situation was that the shot had mostly missed. It still left a bullet in his stomach, but now he was focusing on semantics, and that. . . That took too much afford to be wasted.

But before he could fall into the fuzzy blackness that had begun to consume him since he’d toppled over, something touched at his gut, and suddenly all he could feel was a lightning-burst of pain, nerves screaming white-hot with pain. 

All that escaped him was a choked cry, and when he finally managed to focus on his surroundings again, he made out a mass of light purple, poking and prodding at his stomach. 

“W-huh—“

”Talk to me. What’s your name soldier?” Came the clipped, nigh-panicked voice. It brought with it the sort of faded but frantic memory of calming Sister after a nightmare when they were children. Where her poorly hidden fear spurred him to comfort her and make up mugs of hot cocoa.

”Name, soldier!” But this stranger was not his family. Which left him with a muddled sense of Big Brother Instincts and confusion, all wound up with pain. 

“Dextar Grif.” 

“G-good, right, um, wh-where are you stationed?” 

“Blood Gulch.” 

“Wh-what was your favorite movie growing up?” 

He couldn’t quite see what she was doing, but he tried to answer her questions the best he could, which served to keep him conscious and feeling the pain, rather than falling into comfortable darkness. 

The medic’s panic didn’t ease, which sent a little warning bell ringing in the orange soldier’s head. Was he going to die? After everything that had happened, he was going to die by the hand of Sarge? Goddamnit. . . Fate was a cruel mistress indeed. Or is it Time that’s a cruel mistress?

”Am I going to die? Because if so—oh, OW what are you doing to me?—I have some very choice words for both Sarge and Simmons—“

”NO!” She whipped around to face him, her word a forceful, snarling declaration. “You are NOT going to die! Just hold on!” 

She went back to work, her movements feverish and increasingly frantic. She began to mutter under her breath, but GRif was no longer paying attention. The pain seemed to be fading, fuzzing over and leaving him feeling pleasantly warm in the light of mid-afternoon. 

 _Well,_ he thought absently. _Guess I’m . . ._

His final train of thought faded into warm, muzzy darkness.

 

 


	2. Maroon, Red, Cobalt, Teal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank ShyChangeling for helping me come up with ideas and lines for this chapter (for Simmons and Caboose, respectively) I couldn’t have gotten this far without their help!

“NO! You are NOT going to die! Just hold on!” The words came out as a snarl, the medic desperate to save the orange soldier, as she was afraid he would die.

Or so it seemed to Simmons, who was freaking out. And trying not too, seeing as it would lead to nothing helpful at the moment.

“SARGE!! Why did you shoot him?!”

The Red Commander didn’t respond, calmly reloading his shotgun. His helmet tilted towards the bloody scene for a moment, but he shook his head, grumbling angrily.

“What?!”

“Inopportune moment.”

“...are you kidding me?!”

“It was an inopportune moment! If Grif is to die, it must be the right moment! Using his body as a human meat shield in the midst of battle would be a far better use than punching a bullet into him during one of my lessons on proper battlefield etiquette—“

Sarge continued to outline a perfectly flawless battleplan to evade and take out enemy forces, all while using Grif to take any hits from improbable sources, such as snipers and the extremely ridiculous “space alligators”.

All the while, Simmons watched on in growing disbelief, until he simply couldn’t take it anymore, interrupting with a cry of, “Are you _FUCKING KIDDING ME_?!” His hands flailing everywhere. “Grif could be _dying_ , and all you can talk about is battle tactics?!”

“There’s never a bad time too—“

“NO, just no. Not this time, Sir. This has got to be the absolute worst fucking time.” Simmons turned his back on his commander, his anger falling back into anxiety.

Turning his attention back to Grif, he was immediately discomforted by the sight laid out before him. The medic was fidgeting and shifting, fingers flying, the needle a blur of silver between her hands.

He couldn’t watch, he didn’t want to see the needle sliding through flesh and pulling the torn edges together—shuddering, Simmons tried to force his thoughts elsewhere, his body moving and starting to pace back and forth.

It seemed to take an century and a half of waiting and worrying, but finally, the lavender rookie leaned back from Grif.

It was the lack of motion that caught Simmons attention. He whipped around to face her. His eyes scanned over Grif. Processed the neat row of stitches in paler-than-usual skin. The cut up Kevlar peeled back like an orange from the softer inner flesh. The blood, soaked into the ground and splashed over lavender and orange armor alike.

“He’s going to be alright, right?” He asked, gaze shifting to the medic.

“He should be.” Three simple words, and the anxiety saturating them did nothing for Simmons own nerves.

“You’re the medic if you doubt your work he WILL die!” She flinched fully from the maroon soldier, away from his waving arms and his voice, too-loud over the radio.

“I did my best—“ she started, a weak protest, fiddling with her hands. She’d removed her gauntlets from the beginning, unable to do any sort of delicate work with them, she’d explained. They were so soaked in crimson that he could not see the color of her skin.

Somehow this observation only served to throw gasoline on the fire that was Simmons growing rage,

“You are literally covered in his blood _up to your wrists_ ,” he advanced on her, moving faster than she could retreat, “My teammate could be DYING because of _YOUR_ negligence, and all you can say to me is ‘I did my best’?!”

The medic shifted her body back, frightened and wordless at his tirade. One arm immediately curled over her chest, the other grasping at her hip for a weapon, instead clutching uselessly at an empty holster. Her stance was sloppy and unbalanced, shoulders hunched up as far as the helmet would allow.

“What happened to you screaming that he was going to be fine?! That he wasn’t going to die?! You lied to him, didn’t you?!”

Barely a foot apart now, Simmons was moments away from getting physical with the medic, too deeply embroiled in fury to consider the consequences of such an action. He had barely raised his hand again, however, when she slapped it away with cry and promptly fled.

Simmons stared after, dumbfounded by the whispered stream of apologies, curses, and prayers streaming through the radio. He started when Sarge growled out something and took off after her, yelling bloody murder—specifically Grif’s murder, that the medic had almost certainly robbed him of.

His rage fizzled out, confusion and a strange sort of guilt twisting in his gut. But he chose to brush it aside rather than linger on it, focusing instead on Grif. His teammate was still sprawled out on the ground, stitches in his gut and blood all around him.

He had to get him out of his armor and inside the base… but he could hardly do it alone. He’d have to ask Lopez for backup… or he could attempt to coax Sarge from the warpath, and then convince him to help Simmons, help Grif.

…...

……………….

…………………………………..

Better try Lopez first.

* * *

Barrelling after the would-be murderer, Sarge roared once more for for her to stop and face him like a true soldier, to atone for her crimes.

Predictably, this only had the effect of spurring the lavender-turned-Blue spy into running faster. God-damn bloody sneaking Red-Army-killing COWARD.

When the woman-murderer began to slow, Sarge finally managed to catch up with her. Forcefully turning her about-face, a whole speech prepared in his head, he thrust his shotgun into her face.

In the very next moment, the muzzle of the gun was forced away and his wrist was grasped by two bloodied, gauntletless hands. Through some form of witchery or the like, she forced him to drop his shotgun, wresting it away.

She dropped the stolen weapon, but twisted her whole body around his wrist, until she had his arm locked in her grasp. His elbow bent back dangerously, and the threat and pain of a broken elbow, alongside with momentary shock, kept him from fighting back.

After a few seconds with little more than tense, labored breathing passing over the radio, the would-be murderer finally spoke up, “I wasn’t trying to kill him.”

“Lies!! You don’t believe he’ll live, making you a likely spy and assassin! Only I have the privilege of deciding Grif’s ultimate demise—“

His words cut off with a grunt of pain, the could-be-an-assassin bending his elbow back further, not quite breaking it, not that it mattered. The pain was muc more intense, now.

“You shouldn’t have shot your own soldier.” She snarled at him, fury and confusion and fear all in one. “His wounds should be solely from enemy fire, not his _commanding FUCKING officer!!_ “

The pressure on his elbow increased for a moment, then she let Sarge go. More like, twisted his arm about and threw him in a heap to the ground. She took off running immediately after, conveniently kicking his shotgun out of range as she did.

Muttering curses as the murderer spy fled, Sarge slowly sat up, shifting and flexing his aggravated arm. Didn’t seem broken, but it was starting to feel sore.

Begrudging though it was, she won a fight against a skilled assailant, and without any weapons, at that! She was probably a dirty Red-killing, intel-gathering spy for the Blue’s, but when next he met her combat, he’d kill ‘er quick. Common courtesy on the battlefield, afterall.

* * *

_**CLUNK!** _

Blinking in surprise, Caboose turned and looked to see who had run into him so suddenly.

Sprawled out on the ground was the small purple lady, the one with the spiky cat. Her upper body heaved with rapid breaths, and she slowly rolled onto her side with a sputtering cough.

“Hello.” Caboose greets, tilting his head to the side. “Are you alright?”

The lady doesn’t say anything for a long moment, slowly rising to her feet. Stumbling, she fell over with a cry of pain. Growing alarmed, Caboose gently grasped her forearm, trying to help her stay balanced.

“Are you okay?” He asked. He could feel her starting to shake through the suit. That was a not-good thing, right? And why wasn’t she saying anything?

The static over the radio shifted suddenly, the channel changed, and he heard harsh breathing before a choked voice spoke,

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. _Please_ let me go.”

Stunned, Caboose did as the lady demanded, taking a step back. The lady fell over without the support, and his concern flared up. Something was wrong here. Was she hurt? There was blood all over her. She couldn’t stay upright on her own, either.

He winced when the harsh breathing twisted into sobs. He didn’t want to leave her out here, but… he wasn’t sure how to help. She didn’t want him to touch her. And he only really knew to wash off scrapes and cuts before applying band-aids. And even then, he normally asked Church for help. There was more blood than a small wound would let out however. And when he looked carefully over her suit, he didn’t see any breaks, gaps or tears either.

Sitting next to her, knees pulled up to his chin, Caboose started talking to her. Nothing and everything, as someone close to him had once said. Talking about the stars, about his favorite characters from a book, what Church did the other day. Anything that came to mind, all in a calm voice, in the sincere hope that it would help her calm down.

After several minutes, her breathing noticeably a lot more even, she slowly sat up. He could feel her stare burn into him through her helmet. His story trailed off and Caboose stared back, cocking his head to the side.

“Do you feel any better?”

“...no.”

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

A scoffing noise was immediately followed by a mirthless laugh. The laugh twisted itself into a tearful noise.

“This is a safe place—“

“Safe?! _Nowhere_ is safe out here!” The lady flung her arms out, breathing more rapidly than before. “Everyone fucking shooting at everyone else—“

“It’s safe right now.” Caboose insisted, taking a breath to calm himself a little, “We are not playing capture the flag today. The flag is off-limits. We are on break, so no bullet games either.”

After a minute of considering this, the lady nodded, shoulders slumping. “Alright.”

He didn’t really like the defeat in her voice, but didn’t voice his concerns about that, instead asking, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

She immediately glanced down at the blood plastered over her armor. Slowly, she shook her head.

Not hers? He didn’t think anyone among the Blues had gotten hurt today, so. . . That meant one of their friends among the Reds must’ve gotten hurt. And she was purple-ish like Doc, so she must’ve tried to help them. Aha! That must be why she was so scared. She must not be used to helping people. Or maybe it had been extra bad? Either way, it made her upset. She needed comfort, so…

Gently, he clapped a hand to her shoulder. She flinched, but he hurried on to say, “They’ll be okay. I promise.” He smiled brightly as he saw her relax and perk up a little at his words. “I’m sure you did a really good job helping them, too.”

“...do you … really think so…? She asked softly, a fragile hope in her voice.

Caboose nodded encouragingly, and pried off his helmet for good measure. He wanted her to see his smile, no visors in the way. “I know so.” He retorted, comically serious. “They’ll be alright, and they’ll make you a ‘thank you’ card, and we can all play together.”

“...thank you. Th-thank you so much for believing in me…” she sounded so happy, so relieved.

Caboose smile grew even brighter, and he nodded, shifting a little closer and patting her on the back. “You’re welcome, friend.”

* * *

In the midst of his daily late-night snack run, Tucker was interrupted by a shrill scream. The teal soldier turned away from the cupboard, blinking stupidly into the darkness. After a moment of careful listening, he sighed and decided to go investigate. Indicative by a lack of squeaking hinges or voice, no one else was going to.

Following a string of wordless cries eventually lands Tucker in front of one of the few one-bedroom rooms the base possessed, which had been subsequently taken over by the new medic and turned into a medbay.

He knocked on the door, calling out, “Hey, everything alright in there sweet cheeks?”

There’s no reply, so he pushes open the door, panning his flashlight through the space. The entire room is meticulously clean but lacks the usual smell of bleach that hospitals have. The only bed has been pushed into the middle of the space with a reclaimed table placed beside it, boxes and crates tucked up underneath and some basic supplies arranged neatly on top.

A broken sob draws Tucker’s attention to the corner, and when he shines the light around, well, he isn’t sure what he’s looking at. The small circle of light reveals a loose crescent of lavender armor surrounding a nest of blankets and pillows. Thrashing and wriggling in the center of the nest is what he assumes is the medic. He hasn’t actually seen her face yet, none of them have actually, so this dark-haired, pale-skinned girl could be anyone really.

Whoever-it-may-be is most definitely caught in a nasty nightmare, so Tucker tries to wake her up.

“Hey, wake up. It’s not real. You’re fine. Wake up.” He shakes her shoulder, angling the light away from her face so she won’t be blinded.

The medic’s eyes snapped open, tracking up to Tucker’s face, her expression shuffling from fear to confusion to panic, tensing under his hand.

“Calm down, it’s me. It was just a dream, Finesilver. Calm the fuck down.” Tucker speaks quietly, trying to keep his voice calm. He removes his hand and sits back, outside her little circle of discarded armor, and she doesn’t relax so much as pull the blankets over her head.

“Dude, are you alright?”

There’s a tiny, muffled “No” in reply, and shit she sounded like she was going to start crying, and he didn’t know how to deal with this shit, dammit. He doubted TV shows were good sources on how to handle crying people either…

“G’way…” There’s a pause, and then, louder, “G-go ‘way!”

“...uhhh alright?”

Rising to his feet, Tucker moved to leave, but found himself pausing in the doorway. The small lump of blankets was shaking, the fabric muffling heartbroken sobs. Tucker considers going back in and offering… what, comfort? A listening ear? She clearly didn’t want him there, afterall.

Shaking his head, Tucker heads towards the kitchen, grabs a ration bar, and goes to his room. Manages to fall back to sleep. The next morning, however, he argued with himself over whether or not he should go talk to her.

On the one hand, Finesilver seemed pretty young, maybe in her early twenties. Not a child by any stretch of the imagination, and yet, on the other hand, last night… she’d been afraid. Tucker knew nothing about the young medic, even after nearly a month of living on-base. For all he knew, she could have experienced something traumatic or something. Maybe talking to her would help, but she didn’t really trust him… or anyone else on-base either. Thus, he brought an offering, of sorts, to help break the ice.

So, with some semblance of a plan in mind, he prepared two mugs of their bitter ration coffee and went to the medbay.

He kicked the door a few times and calls out, “Hey, got coffee.”

There’s some shuffling and snicking of armor sliding into place, but the door swings open soon enough. Only about half of her armor is on, but she’s got the helmet in place, so he doesn’t really have a way of knowing if she slept at all, or had been ...crying.

She stared at him in silence for several moments, then reached out for the mug.

Tucker pulled it back, saying, “Nuh-uh. Not unless you plan on telling me what the fuck was going on last night.”

She made an indignant noise, then growled at him—fucking _growled_ , then slammed the door in his face.

Tucker huffed and headed back towards the kitchen, clunking one mug down forcefully and slowly sipping off the other.

“Who put a stick up _your_ ass?” Kai asks him, walking into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a bra but nothing else.

“That new medic. Was trying to be nice but she slammed the door in my face.” Tucker replied, too grumpy to even whistle at the yellow soldier.

“Uh huh. We talking regular nice or bedroom nice?” Kai retorts, grabbing the rejected mug and taking a sip from it. She immediately made a face and went rooting through the cabinets looking for sugar.

Tucker snorts and replies, “Regular nice. Woke her up from a nightmare last night, and tried offering her coffee this morning. Even tried to offer to lend an ear to whatever caused the nightmare and she slammed the door in my face.”

Kai hummed in response, stirring some sugar into her morning drink and downing it in a few short gulps. She wipes off her lips and smacks them, then turns a strangely serious look on Tucker.

“You know, I think she’s asexual.”

“What?” Tucker blinks at her. The fuck did that have to do with anything? “Fuck you talking about?”

“Wel-ell, I tried putting the moves on her. You know, before Church and Tex insisted she move out of that old closet and into an actual room?” When Tucker nods, she continues, “I asked the usual, you know, are you straight, bi, or whatever else? So she says she doesn’t know, that she hadn’t thought about it, so I tried for a casual grope on her up-top and she got all weird.”

Gulping, Tucker briefly thought back to the various bowchicka’s he’d thrown out around the new medic and asks, “What do you mean by weird?”

“She got all freaked out and ran off. Figured she was asexual and super not-into having sex.” Kai paused, pulling a face.

Tucker gulped uncomfortably and swirled his coffee around his mug. “Mhm…” he glances down at the mug in his hand, considering that perhaps that was why she had gotten so freaked out by his presence… she thought he wanted to do the frickafrack with her, which had been true previously, but still… not interested, meant _Not Interested_. Even _he_ knew that…

Heaving a sigh, he chugged the rest of his coffee, and went to fix a second mug.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“To apologize.” Tucker shot over his shoulder, making for the dorms again.

He knocked on the door, waited a moment, then called out, “Hey… just wanted to say that I’m uh… sorry, I guess? For making you uncomfortable or whatever, since you came here. Bow chicka b—...ahem. Anyway… uh, you don’t have to talk, but… I brought coffee.”

He sets it by the door after a minute, and when there’s still no reply, he says an awkward “bye” and leaves.

……………………………………………….

A few nights later, there’s a timid _knock knock_ at Tucker’s door. Turning over with a groan, the teal soldier blinked towards the noise. There was a moment of quiet scuffling, then another soft _knock knock_.

Rolling out of bed, Tucker stumbled over and yanked the door open, “Wuh’now?” He blinked, then looked down a little at his short visitor.

“S-sor-sorry!” She squeaked, backing away and ducking her head. “Wr-wrong room…”

“Where the fuck are you trying to go, then?”

“U-um… Caboose’s room?”

“What?!”

She winced, shifting further back, muttering something about Caboose and blanket forts.

Tucker dragged a hand down his face, groaning. Why? It was too late for this… then an idea occurred to him. He made a “come hither” gesture and stepped out into the hall before she could bolt or something.

“I’ll show ya his room… come’on.” He coaxed, gesturing for her to follow.

He turned without checking and, sure enough, hesitant little footsteps followed a moment after. Without preamble, he knocked on Caboose’s door, standing back the moment it opened.

“...Tucker? Is something wrong?”

“No no, no, I’m good. But uh, Finesilver over here stumbled into me looking for you.” He gestured her forward, watching carefully as Caboose turned immediately towards her.

The big blue idiot’s expression lit up with joy but doused itself pretty quickly with worry, “Are you okay?”

“N-nightmare.” Finesilver murmured, ducking her head and hunching her shoulders. She pulled the blanket tighter around her neck, clutching it before her, as though hiding her body from them and whatever had scared her.

Nodding, Caboose pushed the door open further and beckoned her inside. Tucker nodded toward the pair and walked away, but hesitated after shutting his door. He counted to ten under his breath, then silently opened the door and snuck down the hall. Crouching beside Caboose’s door, he settled against the wall, and listened.

“—everywhere, spread out around me, f-falling, falling. I tried to catch them, even though it was too late, but they kept slipping through my fingers, crashing, _shattering_ on the ground…”

“It is okay. Tucker breaks things all the time.”

Snorting sharply at that, Tucker covered his mouth, holding his breath a moment. After a moment, he heard a high-pitched giggle, which was immediately followed by a hiccup. Finesilver took some loud, shaky breaths, then,

“Not like this buddy… not like this.”

“...and then what happened?”

A sharp inhale of breath, then, “There...there was… my family… but it was like,” a moment of shuffling and presumed hand gestures, “They weren’t really… /there/. Like… S-sorry, I’m not sure how to explain.”

“That is okay too. There is time. I can be patient.”

Ugghhhh this was getting kinda boring. Then again, his initial curiosity had run along the lines of trying to figure out if the new girl was hooking up with Caboose, outrageous as the idea might be.

But the more he listened to the medic’s shaky ramblings of her nightmares about the war and being worried for her family, and Caboose’s reassurances and presumed hugging going on (although he couldn’t be sure, but come on, it’s _CABOOSE_ for crying out loud!) it didn’t seem likely. Like, at all.

Tucker lost all interest in eavesdropping once the conversation turned to making a pillow fort and watching a cute kiddies holovid for awhile before going to bed. Like seriously, what a pair of kids.

He stood and stretched, then padded off towards his room, not bothering with stealth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is so long in the making, things got really busy! I got some of the makings for the next chapter, but I can’t say for certain when it will be ready. Thank you for your patience! <3 Please R&R

**Author's Note:**

> My first RvB fanfiction, and I’m still working out a few details. But I knew if I waited any longer I’d never get anything published, so, I decided to post it in smaller splinters until I get the whole thing worked out. Or it’ll remain in this format, depending on what the people like. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and constructive criticism is invited, please and thank you. Later everybody


End file.
